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Eleanora's Quandary

El Dilema

By Laurie ShermanPublished 3 years ago 9 min read
13

I don’t know if this is a tale of courage or cowardice, valentia o cobardia. I don’t know which it is because I don’t even know how my story ends. Please, I am hoping you will tell me what to do.

A man offered me a huge sum of money, and the thing is, I don’t know if he meant well, meant to buy me, or meant to cause me angustia emocional. He smiled and looked worried at the same time. What does that mean?

No, no, I am telling it wrong. Are you thinking I was in a hotel room, barely dressed, when he offered me money? Or maybe a casino? Are you imagining an alley where one of us is grasping a paper bag full of drugs, looking around nervously? I don’t do those things. Well with you I can be honesta. I have thought of doing those things — when I was hungry and unsure how to feed Makaya – but I haven’t. You know I refuse to be what many would have me be, looking at my dark eyes, my milk chocolate skin, mi ropa sencilla.

No, my friend, it was in a bank when he offered me the money. Now I am laughing because you are thinking I’m a bank robber! It is my bank, the one where I work. I sit tall behind the glass, helping customers. I applied because my friend Leelee told me they needed tellers fluent in Spanish, and not just nice, smart, blonde Americans like her; they needed nice, smart people who look like me, to convince other people who look like me to open accounts.

Did I tell you about the training for my job? It even included sessions on what to do when un ladron comes in. First rule: never try to be a hero; you could die (and for one thing, that does not reflect well on the bank). Give the robber person whatever they ask for. But there is more: you can choose to give them some special money with a dye embedded, so the bank can trace it. Our bosses don’t require we switch out the money like that in the middle of a heist because the robber might figure it out and harm us. But if we do use the dyed bills and they catch the robber, we get a reward!

Oh, no, I didn’t mean a huge sum. That’s not where the money comes in. My boss’ boss, el jefe de mi jefe, offered me that for another reason.

As you can see, I don’t tell stories in a straight line. My life hasn’t been lived in that way. What’s the word in English: complex? contorted? No, I remember - convoluted. My life has been convoluted, compleja, and I don’t have time to recall all of it with you now. You know that mi familia pooled everything to get me out of Guatemala when I was 14, before more of us could be killed. So I must live up to their aspirations for me … and my memories of them.

I didn’t mean to get so serious on you. Here’s a funny part, back to the bank, because I know you’re wondering if a robber ever showed up. A bad guy did come one day, but I was home with Makaya. I missed out on all the excitement (and the chance to earn a reward by giving him the money with the dye!). Leelee and my other bank friend Eden told me all about it. For months they joked that I must have been in on the robbery because I called out that morning. I winked and told them Makaya must have been in on it too, faking her fever of 101.5.

Where was I in my tale? Right, in the office with the boss of my boss. That’s where things get confusing and I need your help. This morning Mr. Patterson called me in. His room is intimidante: big black leather chairs, colorful art on the walls that looks weird to me. And he sits behind a desk as big as my kitchen.

He said I have been doing a very good job as a teller for the past three years and he wouldn’t want to see me leave. Although sitting up straight, he seemed uncomfortable, which I am guessing about, because he had sweat on his forehead and neck. I was trying to pay attention to his words, while fascinated by the drops forming above his stiff white collar.

He said he has a large check for me, which I deserve for doing a very good job with customer service, and never being even a penny off when they close out my drawer every evening, and for being loyal for three years. He looked right at me when he said loyal. If I continue to be a good worker and una empleada leal, Mr. Patterson went on, I can start training to help people get loans. Una promoción!

More drops formed on his forehead. “All you need to do to is accept this bonus check, which I will sign after you complete this form that says you will keep the bonus confidential. We don’t want other people around here to feel jealous or to be mad at you. If you discuss this agreement with anyone, it becomes void, and unfortunately I will need to take the money back.”

Seeing the strange look on my face (I am not very subtle when I am confused — I do this weird thing with my mouth and tilt my head and squint my eyes), he leaned forward and said in a soft voice, “Trust me, this is good news, Eleanora. Just read the letter and come in and let me know your decision tomorrow. I do need to ask that you leave the letter here after you read it. I’ll give you a few minutes to look it over now, while I get a cup of coffee. Would you like some?”

After he walked out, I sat still for just a minute, confused and afraid. I thought: oh, mierda! He thinks I am stupid, doesn’t he, una tonta? Or wait, does he think I am really smart, smart enough to figure out there were threats in his words, smart enough to know no one will believe me if I tell them this is how I got the money?

Scanning the letter, I saw phrases like “compensation,” “equity,” “hold harmless,” “forego present or future claims.” Thoughts went pinging around my brain. And that’s before I saw that the check in the envelope was for … twenty thousand dollars (!!), made out to me, dated tomorrow, with the signature line blank. The check was burning my fingers and I dropped it. It hit me: how much does he know about how I got to this country twelve years ago?

Feeling frantic, but always good at seeming calm on the outside, I looked around for anything to answer my questions. You know what I saw? This small black notebook – like a miniature version of you – peered out from under some papers on his desk. I flipped through it and saw my name on the last page with some notes scribbled below. Damn, his handwriting is horrible, even worse than mine. No clearer on his motivations, I had to put it back when Mr. Patterson’s shiny black dress shoes started clicking down the hallway.

So now you know everything I know. It helps just to sit here with you. I’ve always loved running my palm over your dark, smooth cover, running my fingers through your tattered and stained pages. To write and to draw. Never far from my mind is the moment Mamá placed you in my hands as I left our home. Whenever I have a worry or a fear, something to remember or let go, things I can’t tell anyone else, you are here for me. So what now?

Oh, here it is, that entry from last month after Leelee pulled me aside in the break room. She had discovered I was earning three dollars an hour less than the other tellers, some of whom have less education than me, none of whom speaks more than one language. You’ll remember I made her promise not to tell anyone or to complain to our bosses, but she is always speaking up for other people, and I was pretty sure she wouldn’t keep quiet about the results of her investigation. Yes, here is what I wrote: Leelee means well, but I am worried. Estoy muy preocupada.

I wish I had felt safe telling Leelee why she shouldn’t make a fuss. I trusted her with my tears when I learned Mamá passed on, and she came over every day for a week after Makaya and I lost her Papá Paolo to the car accident. Paolo. El amor de my vida. But you know I couldn’t tell Leelee what Paolo figured out when he went to law school five years ago: some of the papers those men gave me when I arrived here were fake. I think I could be deported any time.

This story is getting sad. It gets better, doesn’t it, because I might have twenty thousand dollars tomorrow!

I could take the check and ask no questions. But is there something he will think I am obligated to do? Should I leave this job because el jefe might know something about my past? I wonder what will happen to me if I try to stay but say no to the money.

Maybe this is legitimate. You know I love math, so let’s figure it out together here: three years of three dollars an hour missed out on, times 40 hours per week, times 52 weeks in a year? It’s almost $20,000! But …

Tomorrow by ten o’clock in the morning I need to tell him my answer.

J.Lo and Julia Roberts will know what to do! Tonight let’s snuggle on the couch with Makaya and hang with those women who helped me learn English. Julia channeled Erin Brokovich and they won the day, right? Jennifer Lopez always figures it all out: remember last year in Hustlers? Maybe we’ll stay up late and check out those smart, pretty ladies in Bombshell. What would they do?

We got this. After watching las películas, I will write on your precious pages, and we can decide together what to do. Then I’ll place you back in our hiding place with my mind clearer and my secrets safe. I hope.

literature
13

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